


To Write a Sermon

by Fabrisse



Category: Mansfield Park - Jane Austen
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Post-Book(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:27:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2801243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fabrisse/pseuds/Fabrisse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Fanny and Edmund have moved into the living, Edmund needs to write a sermon on a topic which he finds difficult.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Write a Sermon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [butterflymind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflymind/gifts).



> I hope I've treated the early 19th century Anglicanism appropriately. If there is any offense, please believe none was intended.

Edmund rode out from the manse to clear his head. Upon his return, he found Fanny at her work box. "Lunch will be a cold collation. I asked cook to serve at one."

"One is perfect. I shall have just enough time to change."

Edmund came down on time and said a simple grace before filling his plate with cold ham.

"You seem troubled, Edmund."

"The bishop is coming, as you know. My fellow vicars have decided to preach each of us on a different parable as he makes his way to each of the livings under his care."

Fanny smiled. "It is admirable that you work together. Why does it trouble you?"

"My fellows have requested that I preach on The Prodigal Son."

"Can you not choose another?"

Edmund shook his head. "I don't know what the others are doing, so I must stay with my chosen theme. This scheme was approved by the bishop himself, and he may already know what each of us will preach on."

"Then why does this parable give you pause? Surely, you can speak well of a loving father, having had such a good example before you."

Edmund said, "It has always troubled me some, but since the Crawfords…"

Fanny finally ended the pause. "Go on," she said gently.

"Tom. He was the wastrel, the prodigal and, having been sorely tried has come back to us as a good steward and heir, but, I must admit, I have always held sympathy with the brother who stayed behind and worked faithfully."

"So you should. Your father would have hesitated to go to Antigua when it was needed had he not had a responsible son whom he could trust with his family and its doing while he was away. He took Tom with him at least in part, I believe, because it would prevent his incurring further debt."

Edmund said, "He did indeed. And I managed to cause pain and trouble on his return."

"How?"

"I didn't prevent the play. He came back to…"

Fanny interupted. "He came back after Tom had insisted on taking the reins from the rightful driver. You could not stop him."

"I should have voiced my objections more loudly or at least stuck to my principles as you did."

"That surely isn't enough to prevent your writing an excellent sermon."

He patted her hand. "I was jealous of Tom, in some ways. I never wanted to gamble, and I have no desire to exceed my head for wine, but the freedom he had enticed me which made me more aware that I lacked and would always lack that same freedom. And then, too, I was prodigal myself."

She smiled at him. "How so? The most extravagant thing you have done is trade one of your horses for my sweet little mare."

"I was profligate in my affections to Mary Crawford. I valued the ease of company her brother brought to us while Maria and Julia were at their most vain. It was simpler to let them into our lives and convince myself it was mere courtesy, than to wonder at the quarrels of my sisters or your even greater reticence when they were near by."

"Let us go and sit by the parlor fire."

The ensconced themselves cosily and Fanny picked up the little shirt she was sewing for a new mother in the parish.

She said, "Miss Crawford was kind to me. It wasn't a _deep_ kindness, but it was unaffected and natural in her. I have known some, even here in this village, who will affect to be kind because it shows well to others. But that was not the kindness of Miss Crawford. She was thoughtless and sometimes even selfish -- but I can assure you, I was selfish too -- but when she realized she had hurt another, she would offer penitence. And very often she brought me into company when I felt set aside by your sisters or Aunt Norris which was truly gentle and far more than courtesy demanded."

"Truly?"

"Yes, Edmund. She was wiser to the ways of the world than I will ever be, and that made her unsuitable for a man in holy orders, but she saw this in herself. My only quarrel with her, besides her protection of her brother and Maria, is that she wanted to change you to meet her requirements in a husband."

"And my behavior?"

Fanny laid down her sewing to stare at the fire. "You did your best and used your judgment well enough."

Edmund stared at the fire a long while. "The brother in the parable resents his brother getting the fatted calf and all celebration. I was not so. The responsibilities of the heir with regard to the family came easily to me, but I see now that I would have filled the responsibilities to society poorly. Tom's easy charm and even his profligacy, when well tempered as it is now, make him one whom society values. He could -- is -- learning the business and the familial responsibilities. I misdoubt I could do the same in the other direction."

"Is it wrong of me to say that I am glad of it?" Fanny asked.

"It has been so long since I thought of the Crawfords."

"They did well for William, for which I am ever grateful. But Henry would not have suited me for a husband."

"Is it wrong of me to say that I am glad of it?" Edmund's eyes twinkled as he echoed her words.

"Miss Crawford could have been a good wife to you. She would have needed to incline toward you, rather than trying to bend your nature in her direction, but I feel lucky that she never tried it."

Edmund said, "I hurt you, then. I feel the wrong I did to your affections most keenly. I should have wooed you longer, let you know your value to me."

"You have wooed me since I was ten, though neither of us knew it. Your good nature was the sun I grew towards."

The silence lasted a long while. At last Fanny spoke again. "I have had a letter from Maria. They have settled in Cornwall, near Truro. She sent her address, should we be well disposed."

"No, Fanny. Not even for the love I bear you could I counter the family's wishes in this, especially as they are my own wishes, too. Maria and Henry are out of our boundary for good."

"How similarly did Mrs. Norris and Lady Bertram think of my mother, and yet they opened their home to her daughter."

Edmund went stone still. "Is there a child?"

"Yes, and another on the way. I cannot tell her happiness. She still speaks over me rather than being plain enough to speak _with_ me. Her pride is, I believe, intact. Four thousand a year can last quite well in Cornwall."

"When the child is a little older, we may discuss her disposition, should Maria need aid."

"And yet, are not they the prodigals? Should we not open our hearts to them as God opens his to the penitent?"

Edmund studied her gravely. "Has she said she would be willing to tend the swine or be a servant in her father's house? She's not penitent which is why she's written to you and not to me. But should she repent the pain and opprobrium her actions have brought on the family, then, I will make her case with Father and Tom. I vow it."

"And should we come across Miss Crawford?"

"Tom says she does well in society. I think it unlikely she will return to this country." He caught her expression. "Should we meet her, we will speak and show every courtesy. She was kind to you, so I can do no less for her."

"Thank you, Edmund."

He stared once again at the flames, gathering his thoughts. "I believe I can write the sermon, now. We are all prodigals at some point -- you excepted, my dear, dear Fanny -- but it is the penitence I shall focus on, the knowledge of our own fault which makes us offer to tend the swine and shows God the truth of repentence in our hearts."

"It is more than that Edmund."

"What do you mean?"

"I am willing to hold out hope for Maria because she was humble enough to ask. Does not the brother say he had nothing of the father?"

"And the father says they share in all things. He never asked for a kid to feed his friends, so the father never gave it him." Edmund stood. "I shall go to my study and begin to write." He kissed her cheek. "Ask anything of me and it shall be yours. You are all my happiness, dear wife."


End file.
